Wings of Death - Italian Power Metal and the Origins of Necro Baby

It was a chilly fall evening when Vecton the Bard and Birdblood the Tyrant arrived on the doorstep of Jenkabala Temple. Bloodmace had taken the sand skiff across the Time Desert with his crew of plundering pirates, gathering tales of conquest from the far flung outposts of civilization in the primitive wilderness. Togther with Iron Dan we set our sights on Italy and it's power metal scene. As a survey, we listened to the sampler "HeavyMetal Eruption: The Italian Way of Heavy Metal" There, our group found a garden of unique pronunciation and galloping NWOBHM worship that pleased our ears with its jovial familiarity, but soon it was time for the real challenge. Iron Dan, cackling like a madman, grabs a club and begins smashing everything in sight, screaming, "On with the games of war! Hahahahaha!" Vecton the Bard, passions inflamed by the thundergods lets out an animalistic howl and begins tearing the floor to shreds as claws grow out from the hands at the end of his long, whip-like arms while Birdblood calls the hell dogs of Phobos to nip at our toes. The situation had reached the point of no return, so in the chaos of flame and whiskey I call out to the Neapolitan gods of heavy metal to sate the bloodlust of my guests and the music began.

Gunfire is a band I had never heard of before tonight, but their style was extremely appealing to me for it's great speed metal sound. The drums often veer straight into thrash territory, while the guitar blazes away in a more traditional heavy metal/hard rock mode, very much like what Helloween and Savage Grace were doing right around the same time. While not as inventive as those two juggernauts musically, Gunfire manages to deliver the goods with a cheeky swagger to their riffs and some nice vocal harmonies. Birdblood chose this as her pick for album of the night.

 Lives of the Noble Centonians Part 4.1 - Wings of Death

Nowadays every child on Centon knows the legend of Necro Baby, but that was not always the case. Long before she burst into the popular imagination as the ghostly tyrant of the east, this evil infant was Gorfun, elder of the nomadic necromancers who stalk the plains of Meggorah in eastern Centon. For thousands of years these wanderers have served the ruling houses of the timepiece world, acting as their magical hit squad, dealing death to those who would oppose the will of leaders both tyrannical and benevolent. Indeed, even those kingdoms who pride themselves on providing freedom for their inhabitants have, from time to time, seen fit to eliminate those who would destroy their empires from without and within. It was in the second age of Centon that Gorfun came to power. He was the child of the Necro tribe's most feared warriors, Chigoth and Samnor, but spent much of his youth wandering lost and orphaned in the Meggorian plain when his parents were defeated by

Parthon the Elder. The Samurian mystic had run afoul of the Wyvern elders and was to be executed, but his powers were too strong for even the legion of ghouls the couple called up for the assault and he incinerated his attackers in a gust of rage. Knowing what would happen to him, Parthon then fled to the north, across the Kradacian Socrat and into the so-called "half spirit" world of Narn, leaving his young son in the care of the Samurian Elders at Lake Chawa. Meanwhile, Gorfun was learning to survive in the harsh, cold plains, where icy winds swept bitterly over the monochromatic landscape in the winter and the sun beat down mercilessly in the summer, unleashing a roving inferno that would sweep through the dry grasslands for months. He was seeking cover from one of these blazes when the young loner stumbled into the newly formed Time Desert. He was running from the flames and the unbearable heat on his back told Gorfun he was about to be engulfed in the fire when suddenly, the blistering sear ceased. Sandal clad feet stumbled on the unexpectedly soft ground and the youth tumbled to his knees. When he regained himself after a moment, the baby faced plainsmen beheld a line of smoldering karci grass that stretched out as far as he could see in front of him and behind him only gleaming aqua sand that swirled in the hot breeze. Wonderment had barely passed from his countenance when another shocking event took place. The dune closest to him began to tremble and slide, revealing a frightful toad that dwarfed the frightened magician. In a voice so low that it was barely audible, the creature addressed him, "Gorfun, child of the savage plains, sorrow is your path. You will be knighted by the wilderness and crowned by the dead, for the Necro tribe is destined to rule over all Centon." Large, wet eyes, black as a starless night, transfix the nomadic adolescent and the croaking voice of the amphibian continues, "Your path will be split, but the way is one. First six, then five, then one. Remember the north, remember the cold." When Gorfun blinked his eyes, the apperition was gone, but at his feet sat a denim vest, embroidered with the patches of the sacred black metal bands of earth. The youngster picked up the garment and walked solemnly into the smoking grass, and the history of Centon was forever changed.

We next jumped forward fifteen years to 1999 to hear Tales From the North, White Skull's third full length. At this point in the 90's power metal was a well established genre of its own, massively popular in Europe, so it comes as no surprise that what comes out of the speakers owes much to the classic German "happy metal" sound. Choral gang vocals, bouncy rhythms and major key progressions are are the meat and potatoes of these kind of bands and the elements are all in play here. This is the kind of jam that you get it or you don 't and I, for one dig it. This is the album I voted for.

Lives of the Noble Centonians Part 4.2 - The Killing Queen

In the following years, Gorfun waged a secret campagin of fear, first in the sleepy western coastal villages, witch fell quickly to the necromancer's hordes. He then sent his agents to the east where they discovered a new power in the ancient land. Demon Scourge and Bloodmace, sons of Bloodhammer, were the ascendent princes in this province and expertly repelled the supernatural creatures that issued fourth from the west. Meanwhile, Gorfun had forged a treaty with the Wyvern elders and a mysterious, powerful outer dimensional force called Headron to conquer the whole of Centon and divide it's real estate and great natural resources between them. To this end, Headron possessed the body of Zodron the Minstrel and made an attempt on the lives of the brave metal warriors. This attack, however only succeed in enraging the pair, who immediately set out on a quest to destroy the faceless king. Gorfun was beside himself with anger and was slipping through Samur to mount an offensive on Jenkabala when he was confronted by Parthon the Younger, who was about to become Iron Dan in the wilds of that mystical realm, and Vecton the Bard. A fierce battle ensued and even the combined might of the occult heavyweights could not best the power of the denim vestment. Just

when it seemed that all was lost, however, Iron Dan used his psychophysiological powers to separate the insane ruler from the legendary jacket by fusing it with some of his own genetic material. It was thought that Gorfun died in the ensuing conflagration, but for many years rumors circulated in the villages of two ghosts who would appear in the wilderness as children. A small boy bearing the old fashioned earthen name of James and his sister, Necro Baby, an evil looking creature with the most vile and feared symbols tattooed upon the flesh of her head. What was thought to be just idle talk came to be confirmed in a terrifying way when the heroes of Centon were wiped out at Castle Thrashstone, for in those dark times a new master took possession of Jenkabala Castle. Necro Baby was truly the worst of the worst and Headron put her in the throne as a final insult to the fallen warriors and a challenge to Iron Dan, for he knew that the weird infant was indeed what was left of Gorfun, emperor of the plainsmen. When he was defeated by the Samurian prince, the necromancer's body turned into that of a fearsome baby whose power was seemingly unending. The denim vest had fused with Iron Dan's DNA and created Iron James. Necro Baby held this other being in thrall with her tremendous otherworldly powers and forced it to commit the most sordid atrocities against the people of Jenkabala and Samur. When Bloodmace and Demon Scourge, togther with Rangar, Lars the Berserker and Vecton the Bard finally were able to take back Jenkabala and end their reign the pair slipped off, but Centon is about to hear from them again...

Going in to Derdian's TheNew Era Part 3, the decision was split, but we were about to discover that our opinions mattered not, for as the sixteenth note riffing and midi orchestra frenzy of these more recent power metal contenders engulfed the temple in a vortex of fantasy, Vecton the Bard took wing, sailing up above the courtyard then descending to the stone balustrade of the balcony in front of us. In an imperious baritone, he addresses us, "The mighty Bloodmace has left me to the judgement of this affair and you will now know that Derdian are the winners of this metal night! So it is with the ring of power that I call to the spirit of the mace to give us strength!" He thrusts his long arm into the air and the ring begins to glow. From the melodic anthems that fill the air a strange sound grows in volume and with a great white flash, the head of Bloodmace appears in the sky. With a booming voice, cracking and rumbling like thunder the giant head pronounces, "So mote it be, protector of the Crystal Canyon" When the smoke cleared, Iron Dan, Vecton and Birdblood quietly filed out from the great stone fortress and into the chilly fall night. We had survived one dangerous night without our resident barbarian, but what will happen next week? Will my speed metal obsession go unchecked? Will Vecton force us to listen to more Final Fantasy metal? Welcome to hell motherfuckers, welcome to hell...

Words of the Elders

Brothers and Sisters of metal, beware! Necro Baby is no myth. This tiny terror might find you in your nightmares or your waking life, but you can be sure she is always lurking in the darkness. As much tragedy as the first reign of Necro Baby brought, her new campaign may extinguish the Centonian heroes once and for all, but have heart brave warriors, there is a rumbling in the forest.

Until next week Uncanny Embryos,

Horns

Screaming For A Love Bite - Accept Vs. U.D.O. Vs. The Tot Vortex

Germans are a hearty, industrious people, as you may have heard. Mindful of their dark

history, and tortured by their unrelenting work ethic,  they have created a society that melds their iron discipline with the all encompassing openness of the modern liberal welfare state. They make great automobiles and even better heavy metal. Accept is one of the founding fuehrers of the German metal scene, and on their best albums, they are fronted by the man with the world's most metal name, Udo Dirkschnieder. Tonight, we put the best of Accept up against the best of  Udo's eponymous solo output, U.D.O.

Accept's 1981 breakout album, Breaker, is a gleaning, established classic of Teutonic riff mastery. Its her that Dirkschiender fully mastered the gargled razor blade vocal assault. The songs are varied and have one foot firmly planted in the 70's, while the other foot firmly kicking ass 80's style. Album highlight is 'Son of a Bitch', a rude and cathartic anthem to swearing. This song made faces explode from awesomeness back in the day. This one made Vecton the Bard bleed from all orifices and a few others.


This week, we begin a new series in the story of Centon, Lives of the Noble Centonians. For the next while we shall share stories from the lives of the characters in this strange land. Enjoy! 
-Demon Scourge
Lives of the Noble Centonians Part 1.1 - Up to the Limit

Bloodmace held his breath as he cocked the bow back. The yat ambled slowly from the bush where it was hiding, its massive rack of antlers casting a long shadow in the late afternoon sun. Exhaling slowly, he lets go of the arrow and watches as it rips through the throat of the unsuspecting beast, who emits a choking gasp then falls to the ground. This was only the third year the young warrior had been allowed to hunt by himself and he was overtaken with excitement as he trudged through the cool Waylorian morning to Keep Raven. Knowing his father was to hold court that afternoon, he left the carcass of the beast hanging in the meat shed and followed the shady path down Mount Raven

towards the damp lowland. Just a couple nights previously, he overheard his father speak gravely of a group of sauropeds who had been camping in Aethac swamp. The people of the village feared them and blamed the strangers for some recent thefts of livestock. As the bold youngster approached the swamp, he heard the exotic music of the north. He couldn't make out all the words, but the song was clearly venerating some demon of their pantheon. His heavy boots trudge through thick mud until he reaches a small island in the marsh, surrounded by reeds and low hanging trees. Several of the lizard like humanoids are seated around a smoldering pile of fragrant bark. At Bloodmace's approach, they quickly stand, swords drawn. The tall lizard man in the back, resplendent in the ceremonial garb of his brethren, speaks sharply, "What is your business human? We do not have your gomenti, nor have we stolen crops from your fields." Bloodmace, grasping the magic weapon hanging on his belt, sticks out his chest and replies, "I am Bloodmace of Waylor and my father is the king of these lands. It is I who should be asking you what business you have in our realm." His words were spoken forcefully, but inside he felt unsure of his decision to present himself to this possibly dangerous bunch of intruders. The sauroped priest, sheathing his sword replies, "Very well Bloodmace of Waylor, you have seen, now go. We are leaving now, but this spell must be cast before we can go anywhere. Go back to your father, little one." Face flush with embarrassment, the adolescent hunter turns to leave, but from a theeba cart nearby, a voice croaks out, "Wait! I must speak to the prince before he departs. It's very important." The Sauropeds look at one another in disbelief. The voice becomes even more shrill and impatient, "Bring him to me, now, I must see him at once!"

Skip to 1985 and Metal Heart comes crashing through your ventricles. This is unapologetic, meat and potatoes metal for the masses. This is a heavier, nastier beast, less varied, but  tightly focused on kicking your hiney with commando style badassery. The standout is the stinky cheese fest of 'Screaming For A Love Bite' which is the best song never to appear on Turbo, and had us creaming our leathers and singing along like prepubes at a Justin Beiber concert. It's a song about hickies, written by men in their 30's. I love heavy metal. This album made Demon Scourge scrape off the face of a baby. Not Necrobaby, just a regular baby.


And then Udo quits Accept. Accept decide they want to make money and hire a more commercial sounding singer. They fail. U.D.O. bursts upon the scene; unapologetic, frantic, and metal as fuck. Timebomb was their 4th album until a 6 year hiatus. It is the logical continuation of the Accept
formula, but on steroids, and with no interest in making hit singles. This is the heaviest but least interesting album we heard that night. It's still a great album, but definitely meat and potatoes with little gravy. No fancy stuff, just large, sweaty, hairy balls slapping you in the face until blood-clots  form.


 Lives of the Noble Centonians Part 1.2 - Thunderforce

A theeba is shifting about impatiently, its long claws scratching the moist soil as Bloodmace is escorted around the other side of the small cart attached to the mountain lizard so that he can see the occupant of the covered vehicle. "Come closer, closer little one." Says the voice from under the linen wrappings that cover all but the piercing eyes of the seated figure. Feeling uncomfortable and a bit sheepish, he inches closer, nudged by the priest behind him. An ambigously female voice issues agin from beneath the wrappings, "Leave us, I have something to tell the son of Bloodhammer." The sleek shamen turns to go, vestments of faceted stone sparkling in the twilight gloom. The stranger turns to Bloodmace and removes the gauzy wrapping from its head, revealing a ravishing green eyed

sauroped, light and dark scales running in a helix pattern down her head and neck accentuated the strong lines of her long face. She cocked her head to take in the royal heir, "You certainly are a handsome one young Bloodmace. Do you know why we are here?" Bloodmace, transfixed by the strange, rough voice coming from the beautiful face before him answers, "No, I only know that my people are not welcome among yours in the north." The princess looks down and shakes her head sadly, "It was not always like this, and it shall not stand, but yes, what you say is true. You know nothing of me or of my reasons for passing here so I will just tell you that I have escorted a human your age from Samur into the Time Desert. What I am about to tell you, you will forget until the time you need to remember, then you will know that the sauropeds have done their part in the destiny of Centon." She reaches out a graceful arm and with long fingers brushing against his cheek and neck, she guides his face close to hers. Bloodmace's heart races as her sweet, haunting smell fills his senses. Her lips brush his ear as she softly whispers her secret, voice like a lover's hand caressing the growing youngster's spine and brushing this information somewhere deep in the reptilian base of his brain. The morning sun was shining brightly as his father's men awoke him in the Aethac swamp, dragging the disgraced boy from the mud, laughing, congratulating him on his kill of the day before. As they climbed up the rocky slope near the little island in the middle of the marsh, Bloodmace looked back, trying desperately to remember what the beautiful lizard had told him in his trance, but each time he tried to remember, the sweet smell of sourwood bark locked him out. Somewhere far down the trail, throaty laughter echoed into the balmy air and the smell of sourwood rose up as a supplication to the sky

For me the album of the night was 1999's Holy. This is the document of metal masters in full control of the art form, and maybe even a little bored, therefore playful. This is still meat and potatoes traditional metal, but unexpected, even subtle elements turn up here and there, elevating an already great album,. You'll hear a clean, almost jazzy guitar solo here, a power metal type chorus there. The last song tinkles the ivories a bit. Udo sounds reved up yet somehow more relaxed, absolutely confident that his razor blade gargling throat will carry the day. Mature and unexpected. I rate this  the  Winner of  Metal Night. All the albums were winners though, and much ale and merriment was had this night, my friends. Oh, yes indeed.

Words of the Elders

Chief among the noble Centonians is the warrior priest Bloodmace, one of the twin sons of Bloodhammer. In his formative years, he knew nothing of Jenkabala, where his kingdom would at last rise, but there were many signs that did not go unnoticed by his father. For now though, he carries one secret Bloodhammer could never know, but that's a story for later.

Until next week whiplash warriors,

Horns